Reconnecting
by Jedi's Pal
Summary: The M-rated outtakes and in-between moments from our shipper wish fulfillment series Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies on the main page. Each story is named for the chapter in PKGTB that they follow where, as Michael likes to say (and do!), all the "reconnecting" happens.
1. 701 We'll Always Have Paris - Part 2

**A/N: **_We would like to thank everyone for their incredibly enthusiastic response to our new series. We very much appreciate it. This is what fan fiction is all about, giving the fans what they want in a believable in character context. We're so glad you are enjoying reading it as much as we are enjoying writing it._

_**Reconnecting** is a series one shot rated M moments that fills in the blanks between the chapters of **Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies,** when Mike and Fiona are finally able to "reconnect," as Michael likes to say (and do!) _

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**_First up is the continuation of 7.01 We'll Always Have Paris - Part 2 - Enjoy!_**

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_She didn't answer with words at first. She met his sincere gaze and then kissed him, long and slow, feeling the brush of his new beard against her face and reveling in it. She let her feelings build up along with the intensity of their kiss before she had the courage to say the words first._

_"Yes, because I love you, Michael," she told him, staring him directly in the eyes. "Love you, Mikhal."_

_The look on his face said it all, but this time he did more than let his expression do the talking._

_"I need you, Fi. I always have," he smiled at the pout starting to form before he added. "More importantly,__I love ya_, _me darlin' girl. More than all tha gold at tha end o' tha rainbow."_

Her answering smile was dazzling. Their mouths met as he slowly pushed her back down onto the mattress, sweeping the documents aside with his right hand as he supported the back of her head with his left. A contented sigh leaked out from between their locked lips and he broke the kiss and grinned widely, brushing the back of his hand over her cheek. _They were almost there. Just a few more things to accomplish and they would start their new life._

Tears started to gather in the corners of her eyes again, still swollen and puffy from her previous crying jag, but probably no worse than his own were right now. He noticed then how exhausted she looked, thinner than she should have been with cheekbones almost jutting and so much paler than the tan beauty he had asked to move in with him.

"Fi?" he question as he thumbed away the water from her face. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she beamed. "Something is very right. I just… I'm just tired."

"You must be," Michael agreed as he reached across to gather up the precious passports and deposited them in the night stand drawer. "Take a nap," he urged.

"I just woke up," she disagreed and then stifled a yawn.

"Me stubborn Irish lass," he chuckled as he rolled over the top of her body without putting any of the weight of his upon her. Landing in the middle of the mattress on his back, her lover pulled her to him and she snuggled up against his side, her head on his broad chest, her shoulder tucked under his arm and hand splayed out over his abdomen in a gesture reminiscent of what he had done to her moments ago.

"Be glad am too tired ta kick yar ass," she slurred and settled in.

"I thought you forgave me." The humor was evident in his voice and then he kissed the top of her head. "Go ta sleep, me darlin' girl. We have tha rest o' our lives fer ya ta tame me."

Fiona didn't want to sleep, but her body had other ideas and she relaxed in his embrace.

As such, it was some time later before press of lips to a particularly sore spot on her neck penetrated her consciousness. _Why am I so damned tired?_ _I don' remember Bella or Rose being this rundown._ It felt like all she had done was sleep. At least the nausea had settled down and she wondered absently if the doctor had given her something for it.

Doctor… There _had_ been a doctor here… and _Michael had been here_…. Helping her undress?

"Shhh…." The sound of his voice, buzzing right next to her ear, cleared away all the confusion. He was there, lying next to her, spooned up against her, the warmth of his body pressing against the length of hers was comforting and she let out a relieved sigh.

"How long…?" Fiona questioned, realizing that sometime while she had been out, she'd been moved to another room. This had to be the master suite with its ridiculously oversized sleeping accommodations and the luxurious appointments of the rest of the suite.

"Have you been asleep? A couple of hours give or take."

She closed her eyes again. It felt like she would sleep until they got to wherever they were going. Then it dawned on her. She had no idea at all where they were going.

And she decided she didn't care. When they got there, they would be Mikhal and Josephine. But for right now, they were just Michael and Fiona, finally free, finally together, finally alone!

And with that tantalizing thought fresh in her mind, her traitorous body took the rest of her away to dream land. Michael wanted to join her; however, even though he had seen his friend off as well as the doctor and they were out to sea, he still couldn't relax. Any one of the crew could betray them; though he highly doubted it, the possibility was still there.

He swept her hair away from her shoulder again, kissing softly over the angry red mark on her neck. It made him crazy that they had drugged her, but there nothing he could do to change it now. He tried to focus on the fact that she was lying here in his arms in the relative safety of his asset's yacht, especially now that he knew the real reason behind her illnesses. His right hand drifted over her exposed stomach and rubbed small, gentle, lazy circles over her belly.

When the doctor had first asked to see him and had subsequently told him to help remove Fiona's clothes so she could check on "his new bride," he had for one brief irrational second thought that the doctor was looking for signs of sexual assault and his blood had boiled.

Apparently what he'd been thinking was all too clear on his face because, after they had changed her clothes, he had excused himself and Dr. Basheer had let him go quite willingly.

Thinking about the first good look he'd had of her in months, never mind naked, had him stiffening in one critical place and he felt like a bastard for wanting to grope his lover while she was passed out. He hadn't done it to anyone else, even as a teenager; it seemed just wrong to do it to her now. That and the fact that she was just as likely to deck him, or worse yet hurt herself trying to if he woke her up that way, it seemed to him he would just have to bide his time until she came around. It had been months already, he could wait a little longer.

As he stroked her impossibly soft yet still firm abdomen, he wondered at his own reaction to the news he was going to be a father. He tried to untangle the puzzle with the same resolve he had used pursuing his burn notice and maybe that was the answer. Michael Westen, burned spy, reinstated spy, re-rejected spy, hated traitor, subject of a national manhunt, could never be someone's father. Even Victor Roshenko had too many enemies to contemplate a family. But Mikhal Zolnerowich… that man could have a pregnant wife without it being a death sentence for everyone involved, that man could hold his wife and unborn child and be happy.

"Thot feels nice," she murmured low and lilting, rubbing her whole body and her backside in particular against him.

"Does it now?" Michael queried "An' just which part are ya referrin' ta, me luv?"

"All o' it," she purred as he bucked his hips slightly.

"I thought ya war sleeping, me beauty. But since yer not…"

His hand slid upwards, blazing a trail of fire along her skin as it slipped under the white cotton top, pushing it out of the way. He palmed his left breast, still surprised how much larger and rounder it had become even though he'd already seen the evidence of that earlier on.

She was no longer only a handful. Flexing his fingers and stroking his thumb over her already hardened nipple, Fiona squirmed against him, putting friction against his rapidly hardening member. Her low moans and movement when straight to the root of him.

"Yer quite…" he began with a twinge of wonder as he nipped and lapped at the "sensitive…" place where her neck and shoulder met, his new beard skimming along her flesh and leaving additional goose bumps as he continued to massage the mound of flesh in his palm.

Fiona couldn't believe how intense the feelings were as his hand shifted to cover her right breast now, which was just enlarged and hard as the other side. She'd seen it happen to others, heard the remarks from her sister-in-laws, but still couldn't wrap her hand around how much more powerful the sensations were now. Of course, the time apart probably…

She was momentarily distracted as his palm slid down her body again and glided over her mound towards the hem of her white cotton skirt. Pulling the garment up over her hips as he rose up on one elbow, she sighed as his mouth left her neck and he guided her onto her back.

The dark haired man smiled down at her and the Irish woman couldn't believe how different he looked with that mane of black hair and thick beard he was sporting. Just imagining how that would feel between her legs drew a deep hum from somewhere in her chest.

"Do ya like whot ya see then?"

He stole away whatever answer she'd intended to give as his mouth descended to cover hers in a passionate kiss and he caressed her hip bones and rubbed against the flesh between them before his long fingers threaded through the fine hair between her legs.

Since prison, there had been little time to wax and further, he'd asked her not to. She wasn't sure why, but it had been convenient to not deal with it while they had been on the run for their lives. As his middle digit penetrated her folds, his tongue brushed against her teeth until she opened her mouth to him.

His warm wet tongue moved in time with his exploration of the essence of her being as her legs fell open and made room for him to move. He captured her moans with his own mouth, kissing her deeply as their old dance for dominance began in earnest.

Michael wanted to just take her, the urge to be slamming into her almost too much to control, but he couldn't do that to this woman who lie beneath him, looking at him with so much love as he broke the kiss. He began to press his lips to her neck, her ear and then her clavicle as his hand continued to work its magic, his palm pressing on her most sensitive spot while his middle finger penetrated her.

Faster than she thought possible, she was seeing stars and gasping his name as she planted her feet and pushed up against the divine pressure on her womanhood. He continued to kiss her face and nuzzle her hair as shivered against him and tried to get her breathing under control. Light, almost smug, laughter left him as he rubbed his nose against the shell of her ear and his beard scraped along her cheekbone.

"Ya seem quite sure o' yarself," she remarked breathlessly and he chuckled softly in response.

"War ya not satisfied? Well, let me take care o' thot then."

He sat up then and pulled the blue dress shirt off, followed by his white undershirt. Fiona's eyes roamed over his chest, noting how much thinner he was, how much more defined his muscles were. She reached out a hand and let her fingers wander up the taut ridges of his abdomen until she splayed her hand out over his chest and let one of her thumbs scrape across his own hardened nipple. She was pleased when he jerked and beamed at him.

"oh, thar'll be enough time fer thot, don'cha worry, me girl."

The sound of his lilting voice, so deep and husky, brought another wave of heat to her already aching core. "Take all yar clothes off," she ordered. "I wan' ta see ya."

"Ladies first," he countered. Although the sight of her lying open to him, her top pushed up above her heaving breasts and her skirt spread upon her belly, her legs and her sex bare was more than enough for him, Michael had to admit he wanted to see all of her, what little was left covered, as well.

She held up her arms and he pulled her and her top up in one smooth motion. Sitting up together, they melted into an embrace, kissing passionately as their chests mutually molded as one, sending fire racing through the pair of them, their emotions and their nerves ablaze.

Fiona let out a sound of satisfaction that was practically a purr as they broke apart.

He reached out to cup her cheek in his palm, blue eyes boring into blue green.

"I've missed you so much," he confessed.

"Good," she countered evenly. "I hope yer remember how thot feels, cuz I don' think I'll ever fergit whot it felt like ta think I'd lost ya fer good," and she started to tremble at that.

"Oh, Fi, I—"

"Don' apologize," she said simply. "Jus' don' leave me ever again."

"I promise."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly as he lowered her back down onto the bed. Then he reached down to grasp the waistband of the skirt and tugged it over her hips as she lifted and cast it aside. "You're so beautiful," he told her with all the love he could muster.

The dark haired man stood by the edge of the bed and made short work of his pants and boxers before lowering the lights with a tiny remote. He took a moment to ensure that the door was indeed locked and then another to admire the beyond king-sized bed in their room.

In the meantime, Fiona let her eyes glide appreciatively over his naked form, something she hadn't seen fully or openly in months, allowing her gaze to linger on his dripping manhood being so prominently being displayed before her as he climbed back onto the mattress.

As he covered her body with his, a shiver ran through her whole frame, drawing an answering groan from him that was satisfied with all the shades of meaning the word could possibly have. They both reveled in the full skin on skin contact, her hands skimming his sides and his back.

Michael pushed himself up onto his elbows and began to move down her body, kissing, licking and nipping along the way from her neck to her enlarged and aching breasts. As he dropped his head towards the left one, mouthing the mound of soft flesh and being pleasantly not surprised that he could no longer draw almost all of it in, his hand covered her right one, the sensitive nub caught between his thumb and forefinger. He palmed her breast and squeezed the hardened peak in a rhythm with his lapping and suckling on the other such that she was writhing underneath him in no time, her thighs rubbing vigorously on his erection pinned between her legs.

When he stopped, they were both gasping for air. He knew he would not last if he kept that up much longer.

"Would ya fuck me already?" It was supposed to be a demand, but it came out more like a plea. His white teeth grinned from amidst his whiskers and his blue eyes sprinkled at the needy whine in her voice. Fair enough, he was already hard enough to cut diamonds himself.

But…

"Not yet, me darlin', yar patience will be rewarded."

As his mouth trailed hot kisses down her flesh, she shivered again in anticipation of what was to come. He almost slid off the end of the bed and settled between her legs, as she raised them up, laying her limbs along his shoulders. Michael turned and scraped his teeth lightly over her inner thighs each in turn, making sure to rub his face and beard enticingly along the soft flesh there.

By the time he was kissing her properly, Fiona was already writhing uncontrollably, her heads woven in his large black hair, tugging and pulling almost painfully as he lapped at her folds and gave extra attention to her special spot while she pressed herself into him. Her legs tightened against his shoulders as her moans turned into deep, loud, guttural groans.

Her lover had no more than slipped two fingers inside her when she came with a cry of his name on her lips, her muscles pulsing and squeezing against the digits as her fingers tangled in his hair with a jerk. He almost came himself watching her, but her dark haired lover was more than determined to enjoy every moment of their reunion properly,

Michael slowly climbed back up towards the head of the bed, stroking lightly with his hands and brushing his lips over all her as her muscles continued to quiver. He gathered her into his arms, hugging her tightly with his engorged length pressed firmly into her belly. That brought small smirk to his face, thinking about what they had created together that was inside her right now. It made him want to enter into her depths again and never leave. He realized once again that he'd always felt the safest and most satisfied in his world when he was wrapped in her intimate embrace and he longed to be there.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded an affirmation rather than speak and that caused him to chuckle softly again.

He eased her onto her back yet again as he used his knee to tease her legs apart. She opened herself to him willingly, just as eager as he was to feel him inside her once more. As he positioned himself at her entrance, he latched onto her mouth and pushed his tongue in, exploring the wet softness while he eased his harden length into the delicious wet warmth of her core, stopping only when he was fully sheathed in the center of her being.

The feeling was indescribable. Despite all the sex they had had over the years, there was something special and exhilarating beyond the norm, which had been pretty spectacular on its own. Fiona had known the loss of him all too many times and to be with him again intimately after she had been sure he was lost to her forever as almost more than she could bear.

When Michael started moving against her, a slow, deliberate, almost reluctant to have it end motion, she felt the wetness gather in her eyes. But as she looked up at him with all the love in her heart written on her face, she noted his eyes were also shining from devotion and unshed tears. She let her hands drift along his supple back muscles to rest on his perfect bottom, squeezing the taut flesh and urging him onward with her nails, such that they were.

"I love you," she told him as he stroked faster, the pleasant sensation of him filling her in a way that only came from being with this man sang out along every nerve in her body. She wanted to keep him there with her as they were right now, but yet she always wanted more of him. It was a delicious paradox that Fiona never wanted to solve, just explore for as long as she was allowed to live. She was already floating on a sea of bliss, her senses almost whited out as she came yet again and he began to shake and thrust harder as his orgasm took him.

As the aftershocks shot through him, he felt a profound sense of bliss that was both relief for the end of their ordeal and the joy of belonging to someone who had loved him in spite of everything he had done and had been. He didn't know how long he had lain on her, enfolded in her embrace, arms and legs squeezing him tight, welcoming him home, shuddering as his muscles continued to twitch, but he knew one thing beyond all things at that moment.

"I love ya, me darlin' girl," he whispered as he got his voice under control again.

"More than all tha gold at tha end o' tha rainbow," she finished, kissing him passionately again, content to stay there with him forever.


	2. 601 My Island in the Sun - Part 3

**A/N: **Thank you for all the wonderful reviews for the last Reconnecting story, and for all the reviews for PKGTBs on the main page. Also Thanks to our awesome friends Amanda Hawthorn and Daisy Day, you ladies are the best. As always a special thanks to all the Burner girls out there on Twitter & Facebook.

And lastly a special shout out to birthday girls Arifa, & Christin & belated birthday wishes to DKougar & BurnerNoelle. All the best to you amazing ladies.

**RECONNECTING**

A Continuation of 6.01 This is My Island in the Sun – Part 3

Michael followed the ghost of Fiona Glenanne back to his hotel room in silence, fearful of breaking whatever spell had returned her to his arms. Due to the unending heartache and the copious amounts of alcohol he had been consuming recently, he wasn't fully convinced she was truly there, but he was willing to go on a little faith.

The phantom of his lover took the key to his room from his pocket without asking and led him inside, switching on the wall lights to bathe the large en-suite room in a soft warm glow. Hearing the double click of the door locking, he took his first clear look at her.

Drenched to the bone with rainwater dripping off her and making puddles on the floor, she was still in his eyes the most beautiful thing in the world. As he stared in awe at the vision before him, he felt the layers of desolation and loss surrounding his broken heart begin to loosen and fall away.

With eyes as big as saucers, she stared back at him. For all her small size and delicate appearance, he had never thought of Fiona Glenanne as fragile. But at that moment she looked to be made of glass.

A shudder ran through his body. _She had died, cut down by thirty bullets, traces of her blood had been found in the car, strands of her hair containing her DNA had been discovered trampled into the grass and a few strands draped in the bushes surrounding the clearing where the massacre had taken place... How was this happening?_

His mouth moved, but no words would come out. But it was enough to release the tension filling the room. All of a sudden her bottom lip began to tremble and a solitary tear leaked from the corner of her eye, mingling with the drops of rainwater running down her face. As if in a trance he stepped forward, reaching out to gently touch her cheek and thumb away the errant teardrop.

"Michael…" she breathed out his name and, at that instant, the wall he had so carefully built up to hold his emotions in check shattered into a million pieces and the spell was broken.

He couldn't speak. His words were frozen in his throat and all he could think about was his desperate need to feel her, to feel all of her, to reassure himself she was real and in turn reassure her that she was all he ever wanted.

With a faint moan of longing and desire, he devoured her mouth hungrily. The hand which had rested so lightly on her cheek was now cradling the back of her head, his fingers threading through her wet and tangled auburn mane and holding her into the kiss while his other arm snaked about her tiny waist.

As she leant into his body, returning his ardour, he slowly deepened the kiss, becoming more tender. He lost himself in a fiery sea of passion, the touch of her arms around him, the feel of her hips pressing up against him setting him aflame.

"Michael!" Fiona gasped as he began to ravage her neck. "Michael, we should get out of these wet clothes."

He was barely aware of her unbuttoning his shirt. It was only when she eased the soaked garment down his arms that he realized it was gone. Taking hold of her hands, he lifted them to his lips, peppering butterfly soft kisses over her knuckles before turning her hands over to kiss her palms and pulse spots on her wrists.

He continued to stare into her eyes, worried that this was all a dream, that he was indeed passed out in the bar and that she could still vanish. The feelings he had were nothing to compared to that moment he'd discovered her in the loft alive after he'd thought her dead in a fire. That had only been hours of torture, this had been days.

He tried to remove her shirt, but the soaked material and the clumsiness of his trembling touch made it impossible to unbutton properly and he ended up rending it open, the part of his brain that wasn't awash in alcohol chuckling at the irony and revelling in her startled gasp.

Slowly he dropped down onto his knees before her, rubbing his cheek over the front of her soaked jeans. Then with a touch akin to reverence, he unbuttoned and unzipped the heavy denim fabric and pushing the denim and delicate clothing underneath down her legs.

He leaned forward to remove her shoes and then helped her out of her jeans and thong.

"You're cold," he commented in a low husky tone as he ran his hands up and down the backs of her legs.

"You'll warm me u-p," she told him dreamily, a little hitch coming into her voice as his tongue licked from her right knee up her inner thigh and then down the other leg.

He peered up at her, his hands cupping her bottom keeping her before him. "Stay," he requested.

"Always, me darlin' man." She smiled down at him.

"Stay," he pleaded more forcefully, a soft Irish lilt coming naturally when she looked at him that way.

He breathed in her scent, his nose brushing over the thin strip of soft hair at the apex of her legs. Kissing her tenderly, every touch of his lips to her skin ignited another molten wave of passion in both of them. Soon, she couldn't bear his gentle teasing any longer and her fingers combed through his hair, tugging and urging him to deepen his touch and he willingly obliged.

Tightening his hold on her thighs, he spread her legs further apart and delved deeper. _He had thought he would never get another chance to do this, to taste her again. This had to be real because he couldn't bear it if it wasn't. _

His own heart soared as he felt her whole body convulse above him, while her fingernails scraped across his scalp and she called out his name. _This was real, she was his again to hold._

He couldn't hold back any longer. Climbing to his feet, he lifted her easily and placed her down on the bed. She lie back watching him as he stripped away his clothes, her face flushed from her orgasm. Smiling back at her, he let his eyes flicker over her naked body laid out before him.

"C'mere," she murmured an invitation. Reaching out with languid hands, she drew him to her until he covered her like a blanket.

A shiver went down his spine as she stretched up to kiss his neck, nipping and sucking on the skin of his throat before her lips sought out his ear lobe, causing his whole body to jerk when her soft warm breath tickled his ear.

"I need ya, Michael," she purred. "I need ya now." The fingers trailed down his back pressed on his hips while her legs rose to capture him and hold him in place.

He paused, as they locked eyes, and then he pushed into her as slowly as he could. They both sighed at the familiar sensation of completeness which settled over them. Being sheathed in her warmth, her slick muscles holding him firmly brought on another wave of emotion and a hot rush of adoration. He couldn't remain still any longer. He started slowly and took his time, savouring every moment, every sensation, as if he might never get the chance to hold her, to have her again.

Then it became impossible to remain in control. As every movement, every thrust brought them closer to oneness, it suddenly couldn't happen fast enough for either of them. They clung to each other, whispering words of endearment as he took her to the edge of ecstasy and then, in a frenzy of thrashing limbs, they tumbled over together.

Afterwards they lay cocooned under the bed covers, Fiona wrapped his arms with her head resting on his shoulder. He looked down his body to where her fingers were splayed out over his chest and a hazy feeling of peace settled over his bruised and battered soul.

Kissing the top of her head, he snuggled down into the pillow behind his head. As his eyes flicked before finally staying closed, one word wrapped itself around his heart: _Home... _

_While he lay with Fiona Glenanne, he was home. _

_And that thought allowed him enough comfort to get a few hours of rest as the storm outside his hotel room gradually faded like the one in his heart. _

**()()()()()**

Fiona was fully aware from the moment Michael withdrew his arms from around her and slipped out of the bed. She kept still and feigned sleep as tears welled in her eyes. _He was leaving. They had all warned her, he wouldn't forgive her easily. _She strained to hear the sounds of his departure, waiting to catch the soft creak of the door opening and then closing behind him, all the while trying to decide if she should attempt to stop him or if she should maintain her dignity and let him go.

When the room remained silent, she turned over and opened her eyes just a slit, peering through the darkness to see him sitting in one of the room's large comfy chairs beside the French doors. Satisfied that at least for now he wasn't running away from her, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

When she next opened her eyes, it was to the sound of water splashing down. Fiona gave thought to joining him in the shower but refrained. The previous night they had both been caught in throes of passion and he had been more than a little drunk. But now in the cold light of day, sex before they spoke about what she had done to him would only muddy the water. So, instead she stretched and then snuggled down under the covers.

Drifting in and out of a light sleep, she watched him dress and then open the doors leading out on to the balcony. Curious about what he was up to, she continued to feign sleep when a soft knock came at the door.

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the room and she knew he had ordered room service. _This was good - wasn't it? _She made a big performance of stretching and yawning and he was immediately at her side, holding out one of his white dress shirts for her to wear.

"You did all this without waking me?" She sat up and looked out on to the balcony.

"I couldn't sleep." He held out his hand to help her out of bed. "I ordered you your favorite and a pot of Earl Grey. I know it's not your normal blend, but it's the best they could do."

"You're spoiling me, Michael," she answered quietly as he helped her button the shirt closed and then let him lead her out to the balcony and pull out a chair for her to sit down. _Was this to be his equivalent to a last supper? He had done it before... back in Ireland._

They ate in silence, their fingers occasionally touching and entwining. It was like they had traveled back in time fifteen years. He was confusing her with his soft smiles and constant feather light touches. _He should be angry, demanding answers... _But she held her tongue, waiting for him to make the first move. All of a sudden, he got to his feet and and moved restlessly over to the balcony wall, where he stood peering over the edge at the street below and still not a word of her betrayal left his lips.

While she finished the last mouthful of her egg white only omelette and picked up her cup of tea, she took her time to study him. She could see the tension in his arms and in the set of his features. There was a war going on inside him. It was written all over his face and suddenly she just couldn't wait any longer.

"I'm sorry I had to put you through that. Making you believe -" she blurted the words out.

"I know why you did it, Fi. You don't have to explain," he said, turning so his back was against the balcony wall, his arms folding over his chest.

"You wouldn't listen," she rushed on. Now she had started, she might as well finish and get it over with. "You were doing so many bad things. We were all scared about what you were going to do next."

"I would have found a way out; we were getting close to beating him."

_And there it was, the same old song sung by Michael Westen. "I would have found a way." She was sick to her back teeth of those words. In fact, if he ever uttered them again..._

Drawing her auburn hair away from her face, she got to her feet and walked over to stand in front of him. Her hands went to his hips, her thumbs hooking inside his waistband and she looked up at him through narrowed eyes.

"When will ya get it inta thot thick head o' yours, it's not up to you to make all the decisions?" _There, she had said it._

What happened next surprised her. Because instead of her words sparking an argument, his expression had softened and his arms had unfolded to reach out for her

"What is it you want from me, Fi?" he asked as he avoided eye contact by playing with her hair.

_What did she want?! What did he expect her say? _She stared up at him trying to work out what he really meant by the question.

"I'm out of the CIA. I haven't told Sam, or anybody else, but Pearce... I'm probably facing charges for all the things I've done, including leaving Miami on an illegal flight. But I signed all the papers and Dani signed off on them all. As of three days ago, I'm unemployed."

_How dare he!_

"And all it took was for me to die." A flame of anger burst in her chest and vicious words bubbled up in her throat threatening to spill out.

"No! I mean... I promise, I'm out...It's over, Fi."" The look of horror on his face just before he drew her fully into his arms lessened her pique. Her ear pressed against his chest informed her just how wildly his heart was beating and the kisses he peppered over her head and face calmed her tongue.

She gently eased herself back and stroked a hand over his cheek. "So, what now, Michael? What do you intend doing without an agency behind you?"

"Whatever you want... We can stay here, or go back to Miami... I want you to be happy."

_Was that tears she saw in his eyes? He was smiling, but how long would that happiness last? How long before he grew bored of her?_

"And when you grow bored of us living in just one small little bit of the world, or when somebody from one of the alphabet soup of agencies knocks on our door to ask you to take one last assignment?"

He took a deep breath and sighed, his blue eyes stared back at her and piercing her soul. She could see no deceit in his expression, only open honesty, and it scared her more than she thought possible.

"When I was burned, I was angry, confused and determined to get back in, whatever the cost. I didn't know how to be anybody else, how to live any other way... But those feelings were _nothing_ compared to what I felt when I thought I'd lost you. So, what is it _you want,_ Fiona Glenanne? You need to tell me cuz I'm no good at this and I don't want to get it wrong."

_Was he serious? If he had truly left the CIA behind him... Could she trust him with her heart yet again?_

Taking a couple of steps back, she put her hands on her hips. If he touched her, or if she touched him, all her determination to get their relationship back on an even keel would fall apart. He was offering her whatever she wanted and she truly, madly, deeply wanted to believe him. A slow smile curved her lips and then she spoke with a hint of a challenge in her tone.

"And if I war ta tell ya I want an island in tha sun, with puppies, kittens and a brood o' gun toting babies, whot would ya say about thot then?"

She watched him pale and a shudder run through his body as she told him her heart's desire. Admittedly, what she had just asked for was what she had wanted as an eleven year old school girl chatting about boys with her best friend, Maria Kennedy, on the playground steps of St Augustine's Primary school. In the end, she could take no more and, with a chuckle, put him out of his misery.

"I don't need any o' thot." She grinned, stepping back into his arms, her own snaking around his neck. "You're my island in the sun, Michael, and that's all I've ever wanted. Me and you, living and working together, helping people like we used to before Anson Fullerton and all those other bastards came into our lives."

Pressed up against him, she could feel the effect she was having on him and abruptly holding him close wasn't enough. She needed more, more of him. They had wasted far too much time, fighting and arguing. Combing her fingers through his hair, she tightened her grip and dragged his head down until her mouth was next to his ear.

"Lemme me show ya whot I want, Michael Westen." She nipped his ear with her sharp teeth. "I wa' always better at showin' than tellin'." And with that she backed up, her fingers working on the buttons of the shirt.

By the time she was inside the room, the crisp white dress shirt lay on the floor and she was beckoning him forward.

He came at her in a rush, but she was ready for him, and she threw him easily using his momentum and a little bit of Aikido. Watching him land heavily on the floor next to the bed, she grinned wickedly and pounced, landing astride him.

"Fi, Fiona... We break anything, I'm going to have to pay for it," he gasped.

She caught hold of his wrists and pinned them down as her mouth descended on his, stopping his complaints with a deep bruising kiss. When she finally broke the kiss, he lay quietly beneath her, openly admiring her lithe naked figure.

"You've got too many clothes on." she remarked playfully. "How I cannae show ya when there's so many layers between us?"

Wriggling backwards until she was sitting on his hips, she helped him pull his t-shirt over his head and then had to bat his hands away as he palmed her breasts.

Shaking her head. she pinned him back down.

"It's my show, remember?" She kissed his forehead, right between his eyes.

"You get ta lie there..." Another kiss, this one to the tip of his nose.

"And watch..." A peck to his slightly open mouth and then she was on the move again, trailing kisses over his chin, all around his throat and down his chest.

As she kissed her way down his body, her fingers scraped over his hardening nipples, causing him to moan in pleasure and arch up into her touch. Reaching the waist band of his linen pants, she paused to look up at him and, while her eyes remained watching his expression, she used her lips and teeth to pop the waistband button before working on the zipper.

He was breathing heavily now, his hips bucking as her nose brushed against the cotton boxers covering his very sensitive length.

"Fi, Fiona..." He reached for her head, unable to resist as she tugged both his pants and boxers past his hips.

"What d'ya want, Michael?" She ran her tongue over her lips.

"You," he answered simply on a sigh, his eyes alight with both devotion and desire.

"Me? You have me. And now..." She blew softly over his manhood and his moan of pleasure brought a smile to her lips. "I'm... gonna... have you." She kissed the head of his penis, sucking lightly as his fingers tightened their hold of her hair.

She kept him still as she took as much of him as she could, holding him down by sitting on his legs and planting her hands on his hips as he writhed underneath her, panting and calling her name in adoration as she succumbed to his urging to go faster. When he came, she drank him down, still holding him captive as his body shuddered and convulsed in ecstasy.

Only when he stilled and his hands fell away from her hair did she begin to inch her way up his body, kissing and licking every inch of him along the way. When she reached his cheek, he folded his arms about her and sighed tenderly, returning her kisses while his fingers stroked over her back.

Lying there on the floor of Michael's hotel room, cuddling and exchanging kisses, Fiona could have happily stayed there for the rest of the day. However, after a few minutes, Michael shifted and, despite her protests, got to his feet pulling her up with him.

"We have a perfectly good bed." He stood behind her, his arms draped around her waist, as he breathed into her ear. "And before this show and tell goes any further, I'd like to move things somewhere more comfortable."

His hands moved to palm her breasts, massaging the firm pliant flesh, rubbing over her sensitive nipples, while his mouth sucked on the tender spot where her shoulder and neck met.

"Ya seem pretty comfortable right now," she answered breathlessly, pushing her buttocks against his growing hardness.

"Thot I am, but I t'ink thar's somewhar else which is even better, me luv."

One of his hands traveled lower, down her torso and across her belly, until it settled between her legs, one long finger sliding into the warmth of her center.

"How's thot?" he asked, nipping her earlobe. Another finger joined the first. "Thot better?"

She leant back against him, grinding her backside into him while his hands worked her body into a frenzy. Just as her orgasm began to build, he stopped and eased her down onto the bed.

Lying beside her now, he grinned as she climbed back on top of him.

"My turn," she purred seductively. Taking hold of his throbbing manhood, she slowly impaled herself, sheathing him fully.

Kneeling astride him, she leant back against his raised knees, letting her head fall back as she rocked her hips. His hands roamed over her body, bringing her a multitude of pleasures as she lost herself in the moment.

Slowly, as the rapture began to build, Michael pulled her forward and, before she could object, he flipped her onto her back. Lifting her legs until they were wrapped around his chest, he pushed in deeper and deeper until blessed release came for both of them.

In a daze of post coital bliss, they pulled the bed cover over their still entangled bodies and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep. Of course, no matter how long they spent entwined in one another's embrace, gloriously naked and sated, it would never be enough. So it was no surprise to be awaken by Sam Axe's almost frantic text message, urging Michael to return to Miami.

"We can run," he spoke the words without hesitation. "If I go back, I could still face charges. We could still be -"

Twisting in his arms, she looked up at him and placed a finger over his mouth to stop his words.

"If you remember, when I suggested that before you shot me down. We would be on the run for the rest of our lives. Running would be enough to declare you guilty of anything they wanted to lay at your door... You have to go back."

"But -"

"But nuttin'," she stated firmly. "If it comes to it, I'll bust ya out of whatever hole they throw you in."

She edged up his body until they were face to face, her eyes were wide.

"D'ya remember that block of T4 I used on Larry? Well, I was keeping this from you, but it's one of twenty I got as payment for a nice little job I lent my expertise to last year. I can blow a hole in the side of any prison they care to throw you in."

She captured his mouth in a long, lingering deep kiss, threading her hands through his short dark hair and scraping over his scalp. When she finally released him, they were both breathless.

"Go home and let them all know we're alright and then come back to me or else I'll come hunting for you, Michael Westen."

And he knew it was both a threat and a promise, one he would be happy to fulfill.


	3. 501 High Risk, High Reward - Part 3

_**A/N: **__Here is the __**epilogue**__ for our new parents that wraps up all the threads from the last chapter of __**High Risk, High Reward**__. We thought it appropriate to end on a Sam & Fiona waiting on Michael moment for PK & GTB as much of the prior seasons included this dynamic. Now, onto Michael's side of the story. =)_

_Tomorrow at 9 PM, Jedi's Pal in collaboration with Amanda Hawthorne will be posting __**True Believer**__, which is our speculations for 712 based on the spoilers and promos out there, so stayed tuned! If you're interested, send your "Who Wrote Which Chapter" guesses in a PM to Jedi's Pal._

_Much love and appreciation goes out as always to Amanda Hawthorn, Daisy Day and all your fabulous Burner girls on FB and Twitter and __**a special Happy B-day shout out to BNLove120!**__ Hope it was a good one! Next in this series will be the reboot of 4.01 __**When Irish Eyes are Smiling **__starting on 9/2/13._

_()()()()()_

_**RECONNECTING**_

_A continuation of 5.01– High Risk, High Reward – Part 3_

_()()()()()()_

_Fiona's standing over him, begging him to wake up. He can just barely hear her over the roaring in his ears, like she's on the other side of a waterfall a great distance away... He can smell the smoke, but he can't seem to open his eyes and he's confused about where he is... _

_He was caught in a fire bombing in Belfast, but she had met him with the car outside the club..._

_He'd been trapped under a mountain of debris after Larry had blown up the refinery in St Petersburg... His ex-partner had left him to die while Mr Sizemore had been faking his own death because he wouldn't be his Kid any more... he wouldn't be an unstoppable sonuvabitch any more...not that way... So why was Larry picking him up now?_

_He was blown up at his own front door and fallen... jumped?... from the second story landing... Sam had been there... He heard Sam... he heard gunfire... he heard a siren wailing in the distance... the wailing got louder... he heard..._

_A baby crying?_

Michael was hit with an explosion of sensory input as he was expelled from his dream state and dropped into reality. Fortunately, the reality was far more pleasant than being dropped from a second story office or stairway landing to the hard ground below. This landing was soft, _very soft indeed... _the mattress was comfortable, _the pillows like clouds that he was floating on... and the warm woman curled into his side was a goddess, his goddess... he was in heaven..._

_But there are no babies crying in heaven..._

"Michael, it's your turn, remember...?" And the soft, snuggly goddess suddenly had sharp pointy fingernails that probed his ribs... "I was up all night."

Mr Westen's eyes snapped open again and took in his surroundings in the way decades of covert operations dictated, the large, airy, beautifully decorated bedroom with the sun streaming in through the gauzy curtains below the heavier patterned drapes. Tasteful furniture, all with Fiona's touch, filled the space and at the foot of the magnificent white washed sleigh bed was the source of the noise.

The crib… containing his son... Patrick Michael Samuel Westen... who needed his attention...

His body was out of bed, lifting the wailing infant and cradling him to his shoulder, discerning that the soggy diaper was the cause of their child's distress, long before his brain caught up with the rest of him.

By the time Pat was wearing a fresh nappie and a cheerful expression, Michael was standing there dumb stuck, gazing into the blue eyes that were just like his own, struggling to process the facts that he was the happily married, Agency-retired father of the baby boy who was staring back at him and gurgling with delight.

_How did this happen?_

_Duh_... Of course he knew _how_ it had happened... He'd even figured out _when_ it had happened- a stray thought about just having stuck to desert and leaving the shower out drifted through his brain- and even _why_ it had happened, or more accurately what was the point of failure of their method of birth control that had worked so successfully up until now. If this was _going to happen_, then it _should have_ happened while they were rutting like rabbits back in Ireland.

_What a disaster that would have been..._and random thoughts about Liam Glenanne finishing that emasculation the man had _almost_ started ran through his mind, too. But the munching noises the infant was making as he jammed his tiny fist into his mouth and started chewing pulled Michael out of his distracted reverie.

He picked up the baby... _his baby...their baby_... and walked out of the master suite.

His father waited until he was downstairs before he started hoisting the black haired boy into the air, knowing that the child's peals of delighted laughter would have surely have awoken his mother. Michael still couldn't get over the ethereal quality of his life. _It just didn't seem real. This couldn't be happening to him. _

_Surely he was in a prison somewhere being questioned right now and this was the agreeable fantasy his mind had been come up with to withstand the torture._

As he took the bottle of formula from the warmer and settled back into the old fashioned oak wood rocking chair that was a duplicate of the one belonging to Fiona's mammy back in Dublin, he knew that was a lie. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined himself feeding his six month old offspring in the cozy and secure confines, more secure than anyone without proper training could know, of his very own horse farm tucked into the secret world of open acreage in western Broward County, less than a thirty minute drive from his childhood home.

As his son drank greedily, Michael alternated between staring at the cherubic face and gazing out the huge picture window at the large, green lawn and the lengthy concrete drive that left from the main house and meandered out through palm trees and saw palmettos towards the gravel road. He couldn't escape the unreal quality of resting in a rocker, holding a tiny piece of himself close to his chest, when he hadn't expected _ever_ to wake up again.

Perhaps it was because his mind had tried to tell him while he was sedated what it had been wilfully ignorant of while he was conscious that he thought maybe this was just another dream. He'd seen some pretty odd mental imagery, Fiona dressed like a Celtic warrior queen, heavily pregnant and defeating their foes with an Uzi in one hand and a block of RDX in the other instead of a sword, but morphine will do that to you. But he'd also had visions so real it made him frequently question the veracity of what he was now experiencing. A life spent living '_if it's too good to be true, it probably is_,' had left him doubting what seemed like a perfect ending. How could _anything_ in _his life_ go this well?

_A vivid dream of coming back to the loft after dark, of sliding into bed with her after a long siege, bloodied, bruised, but not beaten, not this time, of kissing her neck and her ear and her hair and then wrapping his arms around her waist, only to realize she had no waist, only oversized round breasts separated by an arm's width of ribs and then the rounded belly of a pregnant woman about to deliver... the child in her womb had pushed back at his touch and she had cried happy tears..._

But he'd also had snippets of what Sam had later confirmed to be the truth. He had realized belatedly that Fiona was pregnant whilst trying to disarm a bomb, the black flowing dress not really concealing the truth. He'd had a momentary flash of her confronting Larry with a Mini 14 as he had been stood upright before he had fallen. He remembered the feel of her body beneath his while he had unknowingly pinned her to ground and feel of his arm around her expanded middle...

Michael shook himself. He knew that his face was beaming a warm smile at his baby boy. Just the feel of the infant's weight in his arms was enough to spread a stupid ear to ear grin across his countenance of its own accord. But those things that troubled him, that hurt him, sometimes refused to stay in their boxes, despite the immense surplus of happiness that surrounded him nowadays.

Patrick was chewing noisily on the empty nipple, grinning back at his father.

"Ready for desert, huh?" he queried. "I'm not sure your mom is ready to serve it up, but let's go see."

Michael kissed his little one on the forehead and then hefted the babe on to his shoulder, patting his back and earning an impressive burp for his troubles.

They had learned in the process of trying to wean young Mr Westen that he would happily tolerate, and in fact enjoyed, Dad feeding him formula or expressed breast milk, it didn't matter. But only if it was followed by some of what he was used to his Mom providing. It had left Fiona a bone weary, sleep deprived zombie at first and Michael had cleaned up a lot of baby puke and tolerated massive crying jags until they had worked out just how much of what was required.

As he walked back into the bedroom, Patrick let out a huge belch that woke his mother up with a giggle.

"Time for dessert?" she asked sleepily. Michael didn't answer the question directly; he arranged the pillows with one hand and cradled the baby with the other.

Settling in nearly the center of the bed almost on top of his wife, Mr Westen handed her their child and then proceeded to pull her to his chest, settling Fiona comfortably between his legs and wrapping his arms around the both of them as she arranged her clothing and her breast so their child could suckle.

Happiness like he never knew existed settled over Michael, which was why he spent every feeding he could in this position or somewhere nearby. He had learned to love through intensely painful trial and error with the woman cocooned in his embrace, but loving their baby seemed simultaneously the most natural and the most unbelievable thing he had ever done.

"Do you remember the first time we did this in the hospital?" she asked quietly, her index finger stroking the chubby little cheeks as Patrick fed contently.

He laughed at that. _Of course he did_. It was one of the sweetest remembrances in his entire life.

Sometimes, the disjointed memories of the highly unusual arrangements Sam had been able to secure for them still brought a momentary wave of disbelief. He had woken up enough to feel the familiar shape and not quite recognize the scent… too many hospital room smells. He'd had no idea at the time that they were experimenting with his sedation levels now that the swelling in his brain and internal bleeding had reversed themselves satisfactorily. All he knew was that _his Fiona_ was there, but the IV's and medical equipment had restrained him from making full contact until someone had shuffled closer...

_Maybe that dream of the loft wasn't entirely a dream after all..._

Really, he remembered only bits and pieces of being in that private suite, mostly rousing long enough to placate himself that his lover was still in the bed right next to him, sometimes she'd been holding his hand, sometimes laying her palm on his uninjured shoulder. Sam had told him with his trademark chuckle that he'd had to do it, otherwise Fiona would have worn herself out watching over the dark haired man when she should have been horizontal and resting herself. It was the best win-win scenario that the former naval commander had ever brokered, in his own humble opinion of course.

He had hazy recollections of her crying out in pain and it dragging him from the depths of his drug induced sleep to find her grunting through a painful series of contractions. _ It didn't matter that he hadn't believe it to be reality at the time; it had scared the hell out of him anyway. Her suddenly crushing his fingers should have been a clue to the truth of the situation. But they had whisked her away for an emergency C-section, pre-eclampsia in progress, and someone had turned up his sedation until he couldn't fight it any more. Only Sam's shouted assurance that he would look after her had given the younger man some peace of mind before he passed out._

But Michael did clearly recall sitting up in their joined beds, anxiously awaiting their recently delivered offspring, while he held Fiona's hand and stroked his fingers over her pale and slightly green tinged clammy cheeks, as she drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. _When they'd cradled their baby between them, as they once had held a bomb meant to end their lives, they'd locked fingers and joined foreheads, crying tears of joy which were as tinged with as much relief to be alive as they had been back then._

As he watched the now hearty infant release her nipple and drift off into a contented sleep, Michael couldn't help but compare him to the memory of how tiny the little bundle of baby the nurse had handed them had been. _He'd held Fiona close while she'd nursed their son for the first time and he'd resolved to do it every time he could thereafter and so he had. After missing the majority of her pregnancy, it was the body contact bonding therapy that they all so desperately needed. _

_That and his perennial paranoia had demanded that he not let either of them out of his sight for an instant. Subliminal stings to his sub-conscience moved him to ensure that they would not be left unprotected ever again, but trying to keep watch over them both simultaneously had proven difficult._

And it was somewhat silly he'd finally had to concede, examining it in the light of a tactical analysis the old Michael Westen might have performed. There was a former Navy SEAL, a former CIFA agent, a current CIA agent and a mama bear with all the brass and persistence of all three of the former watching over them, albeit it from a safe, respectful distance to give Michael and Fiona the decompression space they needed to heal properly as well as giving them the assistance the two exhausted operatives needed.

But he wasn't the old Michael Westen and his instinctive drive to protect his wife and child had informed him in no uncertain terms that he had failed to do that properly before and he'd been unequivocally commanded to remedy that situation permanently. Strangely enough, that drive had been the source of their first fight.

And of all the blows he taken off her over the years, none had hurt as badly as her words had.

()()()()()()

Fiona watched contently as her husband… _oh, the sound of that_... had taken their sleeping son and laid the baby gently onto his shoulder, rubbing the blue onesy-clad back while walking around the room with him, before placing their little one back into the crib and disappearing into the bathroom.

The Irishwoman stretched and smiled, quite content with what she had decided to do with her day.

No international conspiracies trying kill them today, no clients to help—not for a long time at least- and no more fucking CIA interfering in their lives. Michael had finally retired, thanks in no small part to the assistance of Jesse, Dani, the recuperated Max and the finally satisfied William Raines. Simon Escher was dead and so was Management at long last. They had met each other in a battle royale that had eliminated them both and ,while she was grateful for the former's help, she really wasn't terribly sorry over the news of his demise.

She stared at the doorway through which her man had disappeared and heard the water start up. It had been his routine of late to take a shower and then draw a bath for her. Fiona had made plans of her own for that time as well. Patrick, unlike his parents, usually slept soundly, but last night he had been unusually fussy.

Her baby boy was probably going to start teething soon, all the more reason to finish weaning him. She'd tried to persuade Michael that it was probably time to move him into the nursery Sam and Jesse had prepared for their _nephew_, with Madeline's supervision of course. But Mr Westen was having none of it.

And Mrs Westen… yes, _she_ was the _other_ Mrs Westen… She stretched again and sighed contently, remembering then the quiet ceremony with their friends who had become family, some twenty in all, in the beautiful rose garden someone had been kind enough to plant for them before subsequently selling Barry the hobby farm.

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift, thinking back to the day he had proposed…

_The nurse that brought the baby for his feeding had also handed Michael some paperwork for the birth certificate. She was leaning against him as they had sat up in their "twin" bed, which is why she'd felt him tense up. Then she saw what he was looking at and knew what the problem was immediately._

"_Patrick Michael Samuel… Glenanne?" he'd whispered._

_She'd tried to be nonchalant. "The hospital does that automatically. They always use the mother's last name… I didn't want… I didn't want to assume that you—"_

"_Do I need to go get a priest right now?" he'd asked, his trademark megawatt smile had formed, just before wrapping his arm around the one she was using to support their tiny son in the crook of her arm. "Or can you trust me on this until we can get out of here?"_

"_oh, I don't know," she'd pretended to think about. "I mean, you have had several head injuries… you might not be in your right mind… you could change your mind and if you left me at the altar, I'd have to hunt you down and—"_

_He had silenced her with a long, passion filled kiss until Patrick had let out a squeak of protest over being crowded. They had both laughed and then he'd leaned into her ear._

"_I know I got this backwards fram tha way we do t'ings back home, luv," Michael McBride's musical voice sent chills down her spine. "But would ya do me the honor o' making an honest man o' me?" _

She giggled at the memory and then frowned. That was the last time he'd touched her with anything resembling desire. Oh, they'd had plenty of physical contact, and she wasn't complaining that he'd suddenly starting displaying a tenderness she'd only suspected existed in there. _Mabbe I shoulda hit ham harder upside tha head all those years ago._ Still, Fiona couldn't help but wonder if there was a connection.

She slid out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown, when she caught her reflection in the mirror and was not pleased with what she saw. Maybe the bigger breasts were sort of okay, but the stretch marks, the swelling and the somewhat rounded stomach all annoyed her. She was ready to blame her self-perceived physical imperfections for Michael's total lack of interest in sex. But there was no shortage of literature on the subject of new father freak out, though granted most Dad's to be didn't get to learn about their new status whilst coming out of a coma after having been blown up by _their_ psychotic former father figure.

Fiona knew it was something more than that or the ever present exhaustion as she slipped into the gauzy robe that left little to the imagination. The weary woman laid a soft pat on her child's back. _Maybe it was the fear of producing Irish twins..._

Michael still touched her, still held her, and still told her how beautiful she was, though she might argue that now. He took care of her and saw to her needs as his own medical condition allowed, but when it came to expressing more sensual desires, there was that odd flavour of the old _'we were together, but we're not really together now' _dancethey used to do and that troubled her greatly on a deeply subliminal level.

Not that it was all that hard to upset her these days between her natural temperament, the sleep deprivation and the hormones.

She straightened and moved away from the crib, hoping that Patrick was as tired as she was and would stay asleep for as long as needed, and padded silently towards the bathroom door.

Once they were out of the hospital and ensconced in their new home, Michael had taken to following her everywhere, including the bathroom. In a two-story, 6-bedroom, 3-bath, 4500 SQ house, Fiona couldn't turn around without tripping over her new husband. At first, she had relished the attentiveness, but her heritage had gotten the better of her and she'd begun to feel smothered.

Independent by nature and by circumstances of her upbringing, the part of her that had longed for his undivided attention had suddenly gotten its fill. Of course, she'd always been a light sleeper, but her on-going lack of consistent rest was probably as big a factor as Mr Westen's uncharacteristic clinginess in the resulting fireworks.

But she'd shouted at him nonetheless, partly she had to admit in sexual frustration, and the look of hurt on his face almost crushed her. She just wasn't used to her dark haired lover letting the depths of his feelings be known. His subsequent watching over her from a distance was even more painful and annoying.

His long-time love had tried to apologize the best way she knew how and they had tumbled into bed together, but it had ended in a gigantic hug marathon instead of a make out session and her barely suppressed insecurities about their relationship, despite the ring, the house and the baby, roared back.

But Fiona Glenanne Westen was never one to choose worry over action. If he was being reticent because he thought he would hurt her, she was going to put his mind at ease right now. If it was something else, she decided as she slipped into the bathroom door to find him wearing a towel and standing next to the garden tub, then the Irish woman was going to meet it head on… and naked as the robe dropped from her shoulders to the floor.

"Your bath's almost ready," he smiled her warmly, but without any of the other fire that had marked their relationship.

"You missed a few spots," she purred as she deliberately settled in his lap in such a way that he was off balance. Leaning in, she licked the wet skin from the hollow at the base of his throat all the way to his ear, giving it a sharp nip, before her heated breath made him shiver. Her hands threaded through his damp back hair and she shifted so that they slid slowly over the edge of the tub and into the warm water.

"Michael," she said his name breathlessly and kissed him hard, before pulling away to capture his bottom lip between her teeth. Then she surged forward, locking her mouth on his in another demanding kiss, her tongue pushing against his teeth until he opened his mouth to her and their tongues finally met in that dance so familiar that it was almost bittersweet it had been so long.

His wife pulled the saturated towel from between them and laid in on the tub rim behind her husband's shoulders and then turned herself such that she was sitting across his lap with him pinned to the bottom of the garden tub. One hand scrapped along his scalp and the other stroked the muscles of his biceps, no longer rock hard from his recent inactivity but by no means soft. When her hand slipped below the water line to thumb over his left nipple, he moaned into her mouth as he tightened his hold on her body.

She rubbed her backside into his groin as she broke the kiss to pepper his neck and cheeks with hot little pecks and nips until she shifted off of him and settled on her knees between his legs. Stroking his inner thighs with her nails, not quite touching him _there, _Fiona shifted forward and claimed his mouth again.

His hands rubbed along her back, but never moved elsewhere as the kiss finally deepened again and she stroked her hands over his abdomen, feeling the muscles twitch. She pressed into him then, slick skin slipping together.

"It's okay, Michael," she crooned close to his ear. "You don't need to worry; you're not going to hurt me."

The hands that were rubbing her back stopped and came around to cradle her face between those large paws, putting some distance between their noses. "I know, I just…"

"What's wrong? Please tell me, I promise not ta bite yar head off again…do ya nae see me thot way any more?" The Irish lilt came out along with her anxieties as her voice wavered. The whole Madonna whore complex might have been invented in Italy, but it was hardly unknown in Irish Catholic circles. _Had his perception of her changed that much since she had given birth to his child?_ He had been hit with a multitude of life altering circumstances in a very short amount of time and her panic must have showed in her blue green eyes.

This time he grabbed her by the back of the head, threading his fingers through her wet auburn hair, and pulled her in for an almost bruising kiss that spoke of suppressed hunger. When he released her, ghosting a thumb over her cheek, his expression was that old familiar mix of love and lust. But it shifted again and then it was her turn to look and feel hurt and rejected.

"Whot's wrong?" she asked again, a pleading tone entering into her voice despite her best efforts to keep that from happening. "Michael, I cannae help ya if I don' know whot's bothering ya. Are ya angry wit' me fer shouting at ya? I'm sorry if—"

He cut her off with another hot, demanding kiss and she felt the stirrings of the passion she longed to feel again manifest itself under her backside as she used both thumbs to tease in the way she knew he loved.

"It's nae yar fault, luv," he said softly as he released her. "It's just so much has happened that I-"

"W'ar still us," she countered, reaching down to expertly enfold his manhood in her hand. "W'ar still tha same two folk who spend tha day in bed, lovin' each other inta tha night…" She leaned into his ear and began to describe all the things they'd done in Dublin and later in Miami while she stroked his length and massaged his balls.

As his body relaxed, his shaft stiffened and she moved again until she was straddling him.

"It's okay," she whispered again as she slowly impaled herself, gradually taking him into her body without ever breaking eye contact. "It's okay," she sing-songed as she fully sheathed him in her warm center, a long moan of contentment answering his low, needy groans as his hands settled on her hips.

"It's okay…" she repeated as a quiet mantra as she began to move against him ever so carefully, her hands stroking his chest in time with the motion of her riding him, sending a small wave of warm water to swirl around the bath tub.

"It's okay…" she assured her lover as their sensual dance picked up speed and his fingers dug into her flesh and he was unable to stop himself from meeting her with thrusts of his own.

"It's okay…" she promised as Michael came undone, losing himself in an orgasm more quickly than he had in years. Fiona slowed the pace, but kept the contact and he enfolded her in his trembling arms and squeezed her tight, shuddering and sighing against her as she laid her head along his shoulder.

"I love you," he told her fervently, though not for the first time since they become parents.

"Good," she responded with a catch in her voice. "Because I've nae been able ta ever stop lovin' ya, even when I wanted ta kick yar ass from har ta Belfast…"

"I think thot's sweetest thing ya've ever said ta me…" he laughed lightly.

"Oh, I think thar's more o' thot yet ta come," she assured him. "But let's get some sleep while we can. We have a big life ahead of us. I wouldnae want ya ta wear out befer I'm done wit' ya, now thot I've got ya right whar I want ya."

"Not a chance, luv, not a chance," he agreed with a dazzling smile. "The best _is_ yet to come and we'll have every day of the rest of our lives to find out what that is together." And he kissed the woman in his arms with all the love that he had.

Until Patrick Michael Samuel Westen let them know he wanted their attention.


	4. 401 When Irish Eyes Are Smiling - Part 3

**A/N: **Thank you all for the lovely reviews and PMs for the latest chapter of Puppies & Kittens, and we are very sorry for the delay on posting this the M-Rated final part of When Irish Eyes Are Smiling. A mixture of RL and technical difficulties kept pushing back the completion of the chapter, but we've got there in the end.

On Monday there will be a new chapter of Puppies, The Enemy of My Enemy, our AU version for the premiere of 3.01 and then we are aiming to post another collaboration with the very talented Amanda Hawthorn based around the scene on the roof at the end of 7.12 – beginning of 7.13 on Thursday.

Lastly a big shout out to our best friends Amanda Hawthorn and DaisyDay, and to all the Burners out there in mourning for our favorite show, we hope this chapter cheers you all up.

**RECONNECTING**

A Continuation of 4.01 When Irish Eyes Are Smiling – Part 3

"Ya look beautiful, sweetheart."

Maeve Glenanne walked around her daughter, her slender fingers dancing lightly over the lace and silk wedding dress, smoothing down the fabric and straightening out the train of finest handmade Irish lace. "Yar Aunty Claire said ya wouldnae be able to spot tha alterations and she wa' right."

The dress had been Maeve's own bridal gown, which had been carefully stored for over half a century. The intricate woven lace, which formed the skirt and train had been antique when the dress had been made, looked as good as the day it had very first been worn.

"It's a magnificent gown to to be sure. Michael will be blown away when he sees ya." Picking up a few hair pins, Isabelle set about putting the finishing touches to her sister in law's hair.

Fiona Glenanne, soon to be McBride, sighed, unable to speak. The last month had brought about so many changes, she was still trying to get her head around it all.

Staring at herself in the full length mirror of her mother's bedroom, she saw for the first time a hint of the woman she had been before she had fled Miami. Admittedly not as slender and without a golden tan but inside where it counted most, she no longer was stuck in the pit of despair in which she had fallen into after the birth of her babies.

"Am still not sure this is happening," she murmured softly as her mother reached up to adjust the head-piece encrusted with tiny diamonds.

"It's long past bein' decent, so it better be happening," Maeve scolded gently, a hint of a smile curving her lips. "Thar wa' a time I thought, I wa' gonna have ta get tha shotgun out fer both o' ya. Ya war as bad as each other."

"Ma," Fiona sighed. "Ya know -"

"Oh, sweetheart, yer too serious, child." Maeve took hold of her daughter's hands. "Ya may have done t'ings backwards, but am proud o' ya... Ya have given me two more grandbabies, an' ya have a man who loves ya. Whot more could I wan'?" She gave Fiona's hands a squeeze and then let go. "Nar, Colin is waitin' ta take me ta tha church an' Liam is gonna bring ya along in a little while." She kissed her daughter's pale cheek. "Remember ta breathe, darlin' an' ya'll be fine."

"I'll try ta remember, mammy," Fiona answered in a small voice, suddenly feeling very young.

"Fi, am gonna see yar mam out ta tha car an' jus' check on tham girls and I'll be right back." Isabelle gave the bride's arm a squeeze and then followed the older woman out of the room to go check on the bridesmaids, her own daughters, eighteen year old Maggie along with Molly and their cousin Sian.

Left on her own, Fiona continued to stare at her reflection. A month ago she had been ready to give up completely. At the time, she had been incapable of seeing a way forward. She was convinced she didn't have a single shred of mothering instinct in her body and that she was never going to be able to do the job all the other women surrounding her did so naturally.

"_Mammy, it's not fair." _Molly's voice sounded through the wall from the bedroom next door._ "Why does Maggie get ta wear high heels?"_

"_Maggie is older -"_

"_Aunty Belle, am older than Molly, why cannae I wear me heels? Me Mammy bought me some shoes wit' heels fer me birthday," _Sian piped up in an equally loud voice.

"_Yer not wearing heels an thot's an end ta it! I dunno whot's getting' inta ya both, wantin' ta grow up befer yar time. Ya don't wanta - Margaret Maeveen will ya get off tha phone an' help me wit' tha girls? Yer supposed ta be watchin' tham. Whar's Molly's ribbon?... Tha ribbon I put in her hair not half an hour ago. I swear if thot's Kevin Brody yer talkin' ta, I'm gonna tell yar daddy an' then see whot happens."_

Hearing the voices through the wall brought a smile to Fiona's face. It had only been four short weeks ago that she had been on the end of one of Isabelle Glenanne's stern lectures.

()()()()()()()()

Four weeks earlier she had been a total mess, barely able to cope with motherhood and Michael had been, if not exactly a prisoner, at least an unwilling guest of her family who had wanted a marriage or a funeral and didn't seem too bothered about which fate he chose.

But something had happened over the course of a few days which changed everything.

_Dressed in a clean nightie and cocooned under a goose down duvet inside a freshly laundered Egyptian cotton cover, she had lain perfectly still in the center of her bed, staring blankly up into space, her long hair freshly washed in Roseanne's favorite shampoo draped over her shoulder in a loose plait. _

_In the dark and unnatural quiet, her mind had demanded she should quit her worrying and surrender to a good nights sleep. Yet as much as she had wanted to, her body had fought against the feeling of fatigue, the ache in her breasts demanding she get out of bed and find out why her babies weren't crying for her attention._

_Unable to fight against instinct, she had reached for her dressing gown and climbed wearily out of the bed. Moving like an automaton, she had crossed the room and only to come to a stop, hesitating as her hand curled around the door handle._

_Gulping, she had forced down a sob as memories of how she had made a fool of herself earlier had filled her mind, making her wonder what she was going to find when she stepped through the door. Had Rose told them all about her blubbering like an idiot, an idiot who was incapable of looking after her own children?_

_A shudder had run through her body and she'd let her head fall forward to rest against door as thoughts of her inadequacies rampaged through her mind._

_This was ridiculous, she'd scolded herself. She was a tough independent woman of the world. After taking a couple of deep calming breaths with a flick of her wrist, she'd unlatched the door and stepped into the hallway._

_There had been no sounds coming from the lounge, no children arguing, no adults shouting to be heard over the din and no babies wailing loudly for attention. Glancing down at her wristwatch, she'd double checked the time: Six PM. The house should have been alive to the sound of her extended family having dinner around the kitchen table._

_Cautiously, she had walked into the living room to find Rose and Isabelle sitting there on the couch watching TV with the sound on low, each holding a twin and feeding them from a bottle._

"_Whot's this?" she'd asked, stepping further into the room, not knowing if she should be furious or grateful._

_Isabelle had gotten to her feet and gestured with a nod of her head._

"_Sit down, Fi... We need ta talk wit' ya," she'd spoken softly but in a tone which meant business and then, before Fiona could utter a word, she'd handed her her son. "Ya need some help, luv... Ya can't be doin it all on ya own. Thar's no shame ta it."_

_She helped Fiona sit and then waited while Sean latched onto his mama's nipple._

"_Yer worn out, Fiona," Roseanne had added. "An givin' tham some formula will help ya' gain some o' yar strength back."_

"_But - whot are ya sayin'? Ya both - me mammy - it's just me." Her words had come out in a jumble, as she had been dumbfounded by it all and too worn out to truly argue._

"_Oh Jayzuz..." Rose had rolled her eyes. "Is thot whot ya t'ink? I know he'd never admit ta it, but Sean did his fair share o' night feeds, I bet Shay did too an ya've got two o' tham, Fi. Fer Christ sake's, sweetheart, give yarself a break, ya don't have ta be some sorta super woman."_

_Claire, having heard and smelt her mother's presence, had begun to fuss and refused to take any more nourishment from the bottle, beginning to grizzle for some of the real stuff. While Roseanne had manoeuvred the infant into position and propped the cushions in place to help support Fiona's arms, Isabelle had disappeared into the kitchen to make a pot of tea and put together a plate of sandwiches._

_When Isabelle had returned laden with sustenance for the new mother, the older woman had held her tongue until after she had poured the tea and gotten herself comfortable, sitting perched on the edge of the table. Then, with her emerald green eyes fixed firmly on Fiona, she had begun to speak._

"_I want ya ta listen ta me. Yer takin' on too much. Yer feeding tham two babbies but we hardly see ya eat a t'ing. Thot cannae continue. Yer also frettin' about yar fella and ya won't let tha wee ones help ya out. Yar man is big enough ta look after his-self and Sian can change a nappy an' if ya would let har Molly can take tha babbies outside in tha pram fer a walk an' ya could put yar feet up fer ten minutes. Ya don't have ta follow tham girls around all tha time."_

_She had gone to speak in her defense, but Isabelle wasn't finished. "I want ya ta promise me, yer gonna start eatin', an' yer gonna start toppin' up yar babbies feed wit' formula. Yar fella can larn ta work tha sterilizer an' am sure he knows how ta use tha microwave. Once yer married an' ya have yar own place -"_

"_Isabelle, I don' think -" she had finally managed to get a word in. At the time, she had been pretty sure Michael hadn't come to Ireland to ask for her hand in marriage and, regardless of what her family thought, she had been determined that she wasn't going to make him do something he didn't want to do._

_The older woman had narrowed her emerald colored eyes and leaned forward._

"_If dis is about yar mammy, am gonna give ya few facts, an' remember, Fiona Glenanne, I lived on tha same street as ya off tha Falls Road in Belfast an' I've known yar whole family fer o'er thirty years... Yar mammy raised tha lotta ya on har own an' she did a damn good job o' it; nobody is denyin' it."_

_Isabelle paused and took a sip of her tea before gesturing with the cup for emphasis._

"_But she didnae have twins! Yar Patrick, God rest him, wa' two years old when Liam wa' born an' thar's same between Liam an' Shay an' even more between tha rest o' ya. She also had yar Nanny O'Keefe an' yar Grandma Fionulla thar ta help her while yar daddy wa' locked aw__ay in Long Kesh or off makin' bombs fer tha IRA. So start listening ta them thot knows whot yer goin' through. I took all tha help I could get wit' Dara an' Brendan. Nar ya have ta do tha same."_

_Fiona's heart had thudded in her chest as she'd stared down at the heads of her babies, the relief she felt overwhelming her burnt out emotions as tears had sprung into her eyes. All she had been able to do was nod dumbly and swallow down her fears._

"_Good girl," Isabelle's voice had taken on a note of warmth. "Nar, as soon as tham babies are finished, yer gonna put tham down fer a sleep an' yer gonna eat at least a couple of them sandwiches an' have a large cuppa tea an' then wa' gonna talk some more."_

_The talking had gone on for hours, as the three of them had worked out a schedule for the babies and Fiona had finally accepted that just maybe she didn't have to live up to her idolized conception of her mother's abilities._

It had been while she was still coming to terms with the changes to her live that a new fear had begun to rear it's head: Michael was missing. He had left the farmhouse with Sean that morning and since then there had been no word from either of them.

She had spent the whole next day worrying about what her brothers might have done to the father of her babies. But her sister in laws had assured her that nothing of the sort had happened.

"_Seamus told me jus' befer he left fer Spain, Liam wanted Mike ta help him out wit' a little problem an' they'd be back in a few days," _Isabelle had informed her when she'd asked.

"_Whot little job?" _She'd begged for more details and that was when she'd been given a hard reminder of what life was like for Glenanne women.

"_I dinnae ask... If they want us ta know, they'd a told us. Nar let it rest, Fiona," h_ad been her sister in law's stern retort.

And she'd tried, but the following morning she had been unable to stop the flow of questions, as all she could think was how if Michael had disappeared six months ago, she would have been out armed to the teeth hunting him down and ready to do a bit of damage herself if anybody had harmed him.

"_Have ya not heard fram Sean yet?"_ she'd asked Rose for the tenth time on the third day and it wasn't even lunch time yet.

"_Stop frettin', ya know whot thar like... If anyt'in' had happened, somebody woulda come an' told us,"_ Rose had replied bluntly. _"Ya cannae be running around after yar man any more, Fi. Ya have tha babbies ta t'ink about nar. They'll be home when they get har."_

Rose's bland acceptance of her husband's behavior had grated on Fiona's nerves, but what had been worse was the bubbling frustration she had felt at not being able to do a thing about it. It had been difficult to follow Isabelle's orders to rest, eat and recoup her strength while her wayward lover was missing again.

On the evening of the third day, she had been relieved when Liam had returned to check on her, knowing she would be worried. However she had ended up spending the rest of the evening alternating between being relieved that her eldest brother had bothered to travel out of his way to assure her everything was being taken care of and worried that what Liam had actually meant was he'd left Sean to dispose of Michael's body.

Finally, after Liam had left to make his way over to their mother's home, Sean had called to say they were on their way back and that had set up a new line of concern, as her self doubt questioned why Michael hadn't asked to speak to her, to reassure her he was fine and would be home soon.

It had been after midnight when both men arrived back at the farmhouse and discovered the changes the womenfolk had made to the living arrangements. As soon they had walked through the door, Roseanne had taken hold of Sean's arm and pulled him into the kitchen and while Michael had looked warily around the room as he picked up on the atmosphere.

Fiona had taken a second to drink in the sight of him, his face already sporting a whiskery scruff and his long black hair wind-blown and tousled. Then she'd had seized her opportunity and her man and, in a similar move to Roseanne's, she had taken hold of Michael's hand and without uttering a word pulled him along the hallway and into her bedroom.

"_Fi…" He had sighed her name and then surprised her by taking hold of her arms and drawing her in against his body. "Ar' ya alright?" _

_He had whispered into her ear and then proceeded to take her breath away as he'd begun to kiss her. Her cheek first and then her lips, soft and tender pecks, until she had sighed and relaxed into his arms and then, obviously feeling more sure himself, he had deepened the kiss, his tongue pressing against her teeth enticing her to surrender to him completely._

_There in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, she let go of all her worries and frustration and returned his kiss, her arms wrapping around him tightly as her hands lightly glided over his back and sides, reacquainting herself with the lines of his muscular frame._

_When he broke the kiss, she sagged against him and was grateful when he eased her down onto the edge of the bed. Sitting down next to her, he stroked his fingers lightly over her cheek while his eyes carefully surveyed the room._

"_Where are they? Sean and Claire… I thought -"_

"_Shhh…" She'd placed a finger over his lips to stop his words. "Thar in Rose's room...I – I needed a rest, an – and -" _

_Her chest had begun to heave and, seeing the look of concern etched into his features, she had forced herself to calm down. _

"_Isabelle and Rose…" She sought the right words to explain. "We hadda a long conversation and we've made some changes. After Sean called ta say ya war on yar way back, we decided thot she would watch tha babies tonight so we could talk."_

_She'd waited for him to tell her he couldn't go through with the responsibilities of fatherhood, that he had too many enemies out there, that if he stayed around he would be a danger to them all, that how his old job was far more important than having a family and settling down. _

_But instead he had nodded solemnly and taken both her hands in his._

"_Yes, talk…" he had agreed eagerly, his gaze flickering over her as if he was looking at her for the first time. "Er, I… ah…" Then his voice had fallen away._

"_I understand." She remembered thinking at the time that she didn't understand at all. "Your job -"_

"_No!" he'd interrupted her, his features having taken on a hint of panic. "I – er- I mean, I…" _

_He'd gulped and then he had taken a breath and his whole demeanor had changed. _

"_I – I've just spent a whole night and day __lying out in a field waiting for - well, that doesn't matter, I'll tell you about that later. But the important thing is -" _

_He took another breath and combed a hand through his long unruly hair, which had flopped down over his forehead, before returning to clasping her hands. _

"_It was while I was out there I realized I didn't want that life any more... I want this one, with you... If you'll have me that is…"_

_She hadn't answered him immediately and, in her defense, she had been through a lot recently. At the time, she hadn't been sure she had heard him correctly._

"_Whot exactly is it ya want, Michael? Ya want ta run round Ireland wit' me brudders? Why?"_

_He had taken hold of her shoulders and leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. _

"_I want__ ya, a life with ya, an' wit' our babbies." He__ had stared into her eyes. "As fer tha rest o' it, I haven't gotta bally. But I'm free o' tha CIA, I've covered meself wit' MI-6 and thar gonna leave us alone." He took another deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Am askin' ya, Fiona Glenanne, will ya let me stay har wit' ya, forever?"_

She had been unable to answer him with words. Instead, she had reached out her fingers, combing through his mop of hair until they took a firm grip and pulled him into a hot demanding kiss which left them both breathless and seeing stars.

They had spent the rest of the night curled up together on her bed, talking and kissing, taking the first steps in repairing their damaged relationship and building on it, as throughout the night the talk of them had turned to Claire and Sean and their future as a proper family.

()()()()()()()()()

A sharp knock on the door brought Fiona back to the present.

"Fiona, it's time ta go, sweetheart," Liam called out as he opened the door wide and stepped inside.

Her oldest brother was dressed in a grey suit and, for once wearing, a tie. His sandy brown hair shot through with grey was freshly barbered and, as he held out his arm for her to take, she realized that his nails looked to have been manicured too.

Smiling mischievously, she wrapped her arm around his and stepped in closer.

"Yer looking good, Liam, very dapper, indeed. I heard all abou' yar day out in tha city."

He scowled down at her as they descended the stairs to where Isabelle waited with the three girls. "Aye, an' one day soon am gonna make thot fella o' yars pay fer all dis," he growled menacingly as he ran a finger inside the collar of his shirt and then tugged at the light blue silk tie.

Fiona laughed at the memory of Michael returning from a day long shopping trip in Dublin and how he had painted her a vivid picture of all four of her brothers on their first ever visit to an Armani store to be fitted for their wedding suits and shirts.

His description of not only Liam's reaction to being forced to stand while he was measured and later fitted for his new clothes but also of Seamus' hither too hidden knowledge of designer wear had amused her to no end. It turned out that during his years of making deals with wealthy arms dealers and warlords, some aspects of finer living had rubbed off on the normally laid back gun runner and smuggler, aspects he had up to that point kept hidden from the rest of the family.

The click and whir of a camera taking shots as they walked to where two white limousines waited to take them to the church caused both siblings to stop and glare. With the raise of one hand, Liam sent Seamus' twin boys Dara and Brendan rushing over in unison to disarm the photographer. While Dara tore the film from the camera, Brendan found the man's wallet and opened it up.

"Dis is Ray Taylor, tha press card says he's fram tha Informer."

Fiona felt her brother tense and, as much as her own temper flared at the intrusion, she forced herself to remain calm.

"Liam, let it go. Send him on his way."

With a curt nod of his head, Liam ordered his nephews to let the man go minus his camera and press card. "I tol' em no photos; thot it wa' a private affair," he growled dangerously.

"A private affair, wit' half tha PIRA council an' most o' tha Dublin underworld in attendance?" she countered, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye, well, tis interestin' times war livin' in, sweetheart... Tha death o' Tommy O'Neill an' thot bastid Andreani has opened a lotta old wounds. This weddin' is givin' some folk tha chance ta show whose side thar on."

They waited as Isabelle finished getting the girls into one car and then they got into the larger of the vehicles. Fiona did her best to push away the thoughts of what her one time lover Armand had planned for her if he had won the bidding war for her body. Today was a day for cheerful thoughts.

"Ya shoulda become a politician, Liam. Thar's not many men who coulda turn havin' an American spy joinin' tha family inta such a positive."

"Michael McBride, tha holy terror who killed tha men trying ta steal his woman, not once but twice," Liam smirked. "I've turned ham inta a feckin' folk hero. He has all O'Neill's former associates shakin' in thar boots." Liam sat back and smiled happily. "An' I don't know whot he said ta thot MI-6 man, but seeing how I've not seen a single Brit spook anywhere near this wedding, me guess is he put tha fear o' God inta tham. Not bad fer a Yank."

Fiona chuckled softly and then leaned over to place a kiss to her brother's cheek.

"I tol' ya befer, he has his moments."

()()()()()()()()()()

The small church which Maeve Glenanne attended twice weekly without fail was filled to bursting with all the people who wanted to welcome the happy couple back to their homeland and at the same time show their loyalty to the Glenanne clan.

The in-fighting and recent deaths caused by Thomas O'Neill's attempt to put Fiona Glenanne on the auction block had rocked the republican communities on both sides of the border. But now that there was a clear victor in the feud between the two families, those on the outside were all eager to get back to the business of peace and, just like any state affair, while the happy couple tied the knot, new alliances were being brokered by the guests sitting in the pews.

Michael and Fiona were just grateful that they got through the whole service without sinking into the floor as Father Conlon conducted the affair as only a dear family friend was able, with memories of Fiona as a gawky, awkward tomboy whose rebellious ways had meant she hadn't attended mass as often as she should and the back story Liam had given his mother's priest on the life of Michael McBride as an orphan from Kilkenny, who had recently returned from America to wed his long time sweetheart.

In the end, they had exchanged vows and matching white gold claddagh wedding rings, Fiona's having three diamonds decorating the crown in the center while Michael's had a wider and heavier band.

When they finally stood as a married couple and Michael had drawn her into a deep kiss, the little church had erupted into raucous cheers of the congregation. Photographs taken by a family friend was next on the agenda, followed by a short drive to a hotel which the owners had been paid a hefty sum of money to close for the day to allow for a truly private function.

But, in the end, after a tear filled goodbye to Sean and Claire, they had headed off for their first time as a married couple. Not to one of the rooms in the hotel, but to the house that Liam and Maeve had shown them a week earlier.

"_I bought dis place a coupla years ago. Been rentin' out ta tha Belgium government til three months ago. Nar it's yars," Liam had announced casually as they had stood on a piece of private parkland in what Michael would call a very high class gated community._

_They were in the village of Monkstown, on the Southern edge of Dublin, looking at a magnificent three-story house with a long row of steps leading up to an impressive looking oak front door._

"_Thar's eight bedrooms, a fully fitted kitchen, a utility room, six bathrooms, a lounge, dining room, study and a games room, underground parkin' which ya get to round tha back an' I've jus' had all tha security updated including bullet resistant glass in all tha windows."_

"_This is too much," Michael answered, beginning to wonder exactly how he was supposed to pay the head of the family back._

"_Ya need a house and Liam has been kind enough ta find ya one. D'ya not like it?" Maeve had asked, taking hold of her daughter's arm. "It's in an excellent school area, an' yer close ta tha sea. Come wit' me, ya must see tha inside befer ya turn down ya brudder's generous gift."_

"_We're not -" Michael had begun to explain, but then given up as he realized that Maeve Glenanne had already decided where her only daughter was going to live._

The driver who delivered them to their new home was one of Liam's most trusted men. The large heavily muscled bodyguard insisted on escorting them all the way to the front step and then doing a quick sweep of the ground floor before standing to one side, holding the oak door open wide for Michael to carry his bride over the threshold.

"G'night ta ya both, Mr… Mrs McBride," he muttered lowly.

"An' a g'night to ya, too," Michael returned before kicking the door shut in the man's face.

Only after he heard the heavy bolts being locked into place did Liam Glenanne's enforcer walk down the steps and climb back into his vehicle. Pulling a radio out of his pocket, he scanned the surrounding area before issuing his orders.

"Thar inside, remember whot tha boss said. Yer ta stay outta sight, but be on yar guard."

Satisfied that even though he knew they were out there, he had been unable to spot the four man surveillance team watching over the McBride home, he driven back to the hotel to wait on his next job.

()()()()()()()()()

They didn't make it to the large luxurious bedroom on the first floor with its king size bed. They didn't even make it as far as the wide sweeping staircase which dominated the lobby. Instead, as soon as Michael kicked the door shut on the Glenanne bodyguard and dropped the locks into place, they had been in each other's arms.

It had been a long time for both of them, a time filled with uncertainty and great change. The last five weeks had been a special sort of torture for at least one of them. Michael couldn't remember another time in his life when he had wanted someone as much as he had wanted Fiona Glenanne during that time and no amount of cold showers had worked to quell the burning desire to claim her completely.

As soon as he clicked the last lock on the door into place, he drew his bride into his arms and poured all his love and desire into one long deep kiss, his body pressed up against hers as his arms held her tiny frame in a passionate embrace.

"I thought tha day would never end," Fiona sighed when they finally paused to take a breath.

"Tha day's not ended yet, luv. Yer jus' getting' ta the best bit," he whispered into her ear, his hot breath tickling her neck and causing her heart to flutter.

As his lips and teeth lingered over her ear and then set about ravishing her neck, his fingers tried to work loose the tiny padded buttons which ran the length of her spine.

"Michael, yer gonna rip it! When did ya get so clumsy? I swear ya used ta be able ta undo me bra by jus' thinkin' about it," she complained as her own hands had already undone the knot in his tie and opened the buttons on his shirt.

"Thar wa' a time when ya didn't bother wit' a bra…" He continued to nuzzle her neck. "I miss tham days." He smiled down at her and then abruptly turned her around so he could get a better look at how she was confined in the tight lace and silk ensemble.

"Mr. McBride, is thot any way ta treat yar bride?" She pouted at being manhandled.

But then as the buttons came undone, she gasped as he kissed his way down her spine from the back of her neck down to the edge of her lacy French cut panties. As the dress pooled at her feet, she carefully stepped out of the yards of delicate fabric before gathering the prized gown and laying carefully on the wooden bench besides the entryway.

Besides not wanting to face her mammy's wrath should anything happen to the family heirloom, she needed a moment to gather her courage. Turning to face him, she tried her best to retain her confidence.

In the last month, though he had spent several nights in her room, she had been careful not to let him catch sight of her body. Ankle length nighties and heavy dressing gowns had hidden away the fact she still held a little of her baby weight and the lithe hard muscles of the past had disappeared, the swell of her stomach and her breasts giving her a softer plumper appearance that left her unsure of herself.

"Beautiful…" she heard him murmur and a blush crept up her neck as she felt his eyes linger over her exposed flesh. "Jus' one more thing ta make things perfect…"

His fingers were in her hair, removing the clips which held the head piece in place and then working to remove every pin he could find, causing her lengthy locks to tumble free.

As his long supple digits combed through her hair, she reached out to stroke her palm over his cheek, then down the front of his open shirt. "Ya have too many clothes on."

But when she reached for the belt buckle about his waist, he stopped her.

"Not yet…" His arm dropped around her shoulders drawing her against his chest and his mouth descended upon hers again.

"Mi – chael, this isn't like you," she stuttered when the kiss finally ended.

"But it is jus' like McBride," he purred as he breathed in the scent of her hair. "An thot's tha man ya married, luv. D'ya remember all them nights in thot little flat on tha otherside o' tha city? We've come a long way, sweetheart, ta make it ta this grand place."

As he spoke, he undid the clasp on her bra, working the soft lacy article down her arms before discarding it on the floor.

Taking a step back, he held her hands and stared down at her body, tears filling his eyes. This was the mother of his children. She had given something precious, something he hadn't even known he wanted and now couldn't imagine living without. Slowly, he dropped to his knees in front of her and his arms folded about her hips as his cheek rested on her stomach.

She stood uncertain in the face of his emotional response, but the sensation of his skin against hers was igniting an all too familiar warmth in her belly.

"I want ta see ya, every inch o' ya," he murmured just before he edged her panties down for her to step out of and the whole time he was laying hundreds of gossamer soft kisses over her stomach and then lower still.

"Oh, Jayzuz!" she cried out suddenly, her fingers gripping his hair as with barely more than a touch of his tongue brushing over her center she came undone, floating on a cloud of bliss.

Holding her close, his arms helping to support her legs as they trembled with aftershocks, he stared up at her with a self-satisfied grin on his face as he basked in the knowledge that he had turned her into such a wreck with just a mere touch. "I tol' ya tha best o' tha day was yet ta come."

Then in one swift move, he was back on his feet, lifting her and then cradling her against his chest. "This night is all fer ya," he said as he started walking purposefully towards the stairs. "And it's only jus' begun."

The bedroom door was kicked open and Fiona landed on the bed, her limbs wantonly sprawled out. "Ya have me at a disadvantage, McBride." She reached up behind her and pulled a pillow down to rest under her head. "Here I am in just me high heels an' a smile while ya haven't even seen fit ta take off yar jacket."

It was his turn to blush as she smirked back at him, slowly and deliberately making a show of running the tip of her tongue over her lips as she undressed him with her eyes.

"Get on wit' it, Mr McBride, or d'ya wan' me ta give ya a hand?"

"I can manage, luv," he replied with a smirk of his own as he continued to enjoy the view she was presenting him. "Ya jus' lie back thar an' relax."

The jacket came off first, along with the made to measure tailored silk shirt which he took the time to place on a hanger before moving on to divesting himself of his under-shirt. Kicking off his shoes, he reached for his belt buckle only to be surprised to find Fiona in front of him.

"Hey!" he gasped as she made quick work of not only the belt but of undoing his pants too.

"I tol' ya ta get on wit' it. D'ya t'ink yer tha only one who's been waiting fer this?"

She palmed him over his boxers and her smile widened as she felt how ready he was for her.

"Let me help ya wit' this." She eased the waistband down over his hips and folded her hand around his throbbing manhood.

A soft moan escaped from his lips as he leaned into her touch. She looked up and saw his eyes were closed as his hips bucked against her hand.

"I need ya, Michael," she whispered into his ear, "I need ya now, d'ya need me?"

She moved backwards, her hand stroking up and down his length, coaxing him to follow her until she tumbled backwards, bringing him down on top of her.

Taking his weight on his arms, he gazed down at her, both of them suddenly unsure. This was a whole new chapter in their lives. They were no longer Fiona Glenanne, part time arms dealer and thief, and Michael Westen, full time spy, they were now Fiona and Mike McBride and they were responsible for two tiny lives and would be forever after.

He hesitated and swallowed thickly.

"Are ya scared?"

He looked down and saw she was smiling up at him.

"I asked do I scare ya, Michael McBride?"

Her hand guided him to where she wanted him most, her thumb circling over the head of his manhood, sending sparks of desire shooting throughout his body.

"Scared?" He returned her smile, lowering himself enough to place a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Ya bloody terrify me, woman."

Her back arched up and a sweet moan slipped from between her gently parted lips as he pushed into her, feeling her form a tight warm sheath about him. Breathing deeply, he went as slowly as he could, determined not to bring her any pain.

But slow and gentle, when the woman he loved writhed so wantonly underneath him and whose long legs wrapped about his waist urging him on with threats of bodily violence, could only last so long. His body trembled from the effort he was putting into remaining in control and then as her walls fluttered about him and her fingernails dragged down his sides, his brain whited out and he lost all control as he reached orgasmic bliss far sooner than he had hoped.

He collapsed on to his side next to her, both of them breathing heavily, the smile on her face and the slightly dazed look in her eyes enough to tell him all was well regardless of how fast things had gone.

Stroking his hand down her cheek and then letting it trail over the rapid rise and fall of her chest, he settled his hand over one plump soft breast.

"I'll do better next time," he promised, hoping she wasn't disappointed. "Ya jus' so -"

She stopped his apology with a kiss, making sure he got the message he had nothing to apologize for.

"Ya exhaust me, McBride," she spoke softly, peppering his face with kisses, "But as ya said tha night isn't over."

And it wasn't...

The second time found them slightly more capable of maintaining that languid pace he'd intended after hours of cuddling and kissing, petting and playfully applying hands and tongues to body parts that had longed for a familiar touch. As they were intimately joined together, staring into one another's eyes with that mix of ecstasy and adoration that had characterized their couplings when they had first met over a decade ago, moving together towards mutual bliss, it was the homecoming both had always wanted, but neither ever thought they would have.

And still there was more…

By the time morning came, the couple were completely sated, sleeping wrapped in each other's arms, both with relaxed smiles on their faces. For the following twenty four hours, they were left completely alone to renew their relationship and to become reacquainted with each other as man and wife.

()()()()()()()()()()

But by the second morning, Michael surprised Fiona by informing her shyly that he was missing Sean and Claire. Two hours after Fi made the call to ask Isabelle to bring the twins back to their new home, the McBride house was descended upon by all the brothers, their wives and hoardes of Glenanne children.

And then later on that second day, when the house had finally returned to tranquillity, Michael had discovered the house had gained some new residents and he now had a job to do.

Seamus had brought with him in way of a house warming present a sleek coated, short haired Belgium shepherd dog. As he had sat on the couch, his hand ruffling the big dog's ears, he had made the introductions.

"_His name's Max and he's a little bit long in tha tooth, but Belle said wit' tha babbies ya shouldnae have a pup, at least not yet. He's a good guard dog. Somebody gets through yar perimeter, jus' point ham at tham."_

And the other new members to the McBride family were dropped into Michael's lap quite literally by Sian. The blond girl had gathered early on that Uncle McBride was not a cat lover and she had decided to remedy his obvious affliction.

"_Sean-boy will be missing his friends," she had announced with a hint of a challenge in her tone as her uncle had winced and struggled to hold onto the two fidgeting kittens. "Ya don't wanta make ham cry, d'ya Uncle Mike? I call 'em Justin an' Ashton."_

"_Great," he had replied from behind clenched teeth as tiny razor like claws dug into his arm. "But don'cha think they'd be better off on tha farm?" He had sent Seamus and Isabelle a desperate look._

"_No," the young girl tersely informed him. "Uncle Shay's puppy dogs dinnae like tham." She had then smiled sweetly and done her utmost to convince him the little monsters would be easily house-trained and besides Sean-boy would be missing his furry friends._

It was only after the married members of the family had departed and Fiona had locked the kittens into the utility room and settled down to feed the twins that Liam Glenanne had suggested Michael take a walk with him around the park.

_Taking Max with them, the two men had strolled along one of the paths across the wide open field. "I have a problem." Liam began. "Jeannie has been givin' me nuttin' but grief fer tha las' coupla weeks an' now thot tha weddin' is o'er wit, I'm runnin' outta ways ta avoid har."_

The idea of the head of the Glenanne clan and one of the PIRA's most feared interrogators had been hiding from his girlfriend had caused Michael to force down a chuckle, ducking his head down to hide the smirk which he couldn't suppress.

"_I'd like ta help ya, but relationships, dey aren't really me thing. Ask Fi, she'll tell you."_

"_I don' need advice off ya on how ta -" The older man paused and huffed. "One o' Jeannie's friends is in trouble an' she wants me ta sort it all out fer har. But it's not thot simple. Tha friend is a widow an' har old man died owing money ta a loan shark an -"_

"_An' nar thar coming after her?" Michael had finished the older man's sentence. "An' why cannae ya scare off tha loan shark?"_

"_Cuz he donates ta tha Cause, an' as such I cannae touch ham. Only Jeannie won't accept thot." He came to a stop, and stared at the ground. "Fiona has tol' us all how ya war workin' together in Miami, helpin' folk thot needed it. So, I'm askin' ya ta come back wit' me ta Belfast an' talk ta Jeannie's friend. Ya know, mabbe give har some advice or sommit."_

Michael had felt a strong sense of deja vu as his brother in law slapped him on the back.

"_Fram whot I hear, it's a job ya could do wit' yar hands tied behind yar back. An' if ya need Fi ta help, am sure Jeannie will be happy ta come o'er ta watch tha kiddies."_

As he'd walked back up the stairs towards his back door, his new dog and his new in law close on his heels, Michael McBride couldn't help but feel that his life had come full circle in the best way possible. He opened the door to find his beautiful bride looking at him with curiosity.

"Fiona, luv, pack some yogurt an' C-4 along with the twins' bags. War gonna on a roadtrip."


End file.
